fathomless resentment, like a raw wound. The
heavy, bloodyeyed resentment of men who have never been able to
win a soul for themselves, never been able to win themselves a
nucleus, an individual integrity out of the chaos of passions
and potencies and death. They are caught in the toils of old lusts
and old activities as in the folds of a black serpent that strangles
the heart. The heavy, evil-smelling weight of an unconquered past.
And under this weight they live and die, not really sorry to die.
Clogged and tangled in the elements, never able to extricate themselves.
Blackened under a too-strong sun, surcharged with the heavy sundering
electricity of the Mexican air, and tormented by the bubbling
of volcanoes away below the feet. The tremendous potent elements
of the American continent, that give men powerful bodies, but
which weigh the soul down and prevent its rising into birth. Or,
if a man arrives with a soul, the maleficent elements gradually
break it, gradually, till he decomposes into ideas and mechanistic
activities, in a body full of mechanical energy, but with his
blood-soul dead and putrescent.
So, these men, unable to overcome the elements, men held down
by the serpent tangle of sun and electricity and volcanic emission,
they are subject to an ever-recurring, fathomless lust of resentment,
a demonish hatred of life itself. Then, the instriking thud of
a heavy knife, stabbing into a living body, this is the best.
No lust of women can equal that lust. The clutching throb of gratification
as the knife strikes in and the blood spurts out!
It is the inevitable supreme gratification of a people entangled
in the past, and unable to extricate itself. A people that has
never been redeemed, that has not known a Saviour.
For Jesus is no Saviour to the Mexicans. He is a dead god in their
tomb. As a miner who is entombed underground by the collapsing
of the earth in the gangways, so do whole nations become entombed
under the slow subsidence of their past. Unless there comes some
Saviour, some Redeemer to drive a new way out, to the sun.
But the white men brought no salvation to Mexico. On the contrary,
they find themselves at last shut in the tomb along with their
dead god and the conquered race.

travel books:
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where is TITLE fathomless resentment, like a raw wound. what is heavy, bloodyeyed resentment of men who have never been able to win a soul for themselves, never been able to win themselves a nucleus, an individual integrity out of what is chaos of passions and potencies and what time is it . They are caught in what is toils of old lusts and old activities as in what is folds of a black serpent that strangles what is heart. what is heavy, evil-smelling weight of an unconquered past. And under this weight they live and die, not really sorry to die. Clogged and tangled in what is elements, never able to extricate themselves. Blackened under a too-strong sun, surcharged with what is heavy sundering electricity of what is Mexican air, and tormented by what is bubbling of volcanoes away below what is feet. what is tremendous potent elements of what is American continent, that give men powerful bodies, but which weigh what is soul down and prevent its rising into birth. Or,
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where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old
Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Plumed Serpent (1926)
where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0"
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where is p align="left" Page 145
where is strong CHAPTER VIII - Night in what is House
where is p align="justify" fathomless resentment, like a raw wound. The
heavy, bloodyeyed resentment of men who have never been able to
win a soul for themselves, never been able to win themselves a
nucleus, an individual integrity out of what is chaos of passions
and potencies and what time is it . They are caught in what is toils of old lusts
and old activities as in what is folds of a black serpent that strangles
what is heart. what is heavy, evil-smelling weight of an unconquered past.
And under this weight they live and die, not really sorry to die.
Clogged and tangled in what is elements, never able to extricate themselves.
Blackened under a too-strong sun, surcharged with what is heavy sundering
electricity of what is Mexican air, and tormented by what is bubbling
of volcanoes away below what is feet. what is tremendous potent elements
of what is American continent, that give men powerful bodies, but
which weigh what is soul down and prevent its rising into birth. Or,
if a man arrives with a soul, what is maleficent elements gradually
break it, gradually, till he decomposes into ideas and mechanistic
activities, in a body full of mechanical energy, but with his
blood-soul dead and putrescent.
So, these men, unable to overcome what is elements, men held down
by what is serpent tangle of sun and electricity and volcanic emission,
they are subject to an ever-recurring, fathomless lust of resentment,
a bad spirit ish hatred of life itself. Then, what is instriking thud of
a heavy knife, stabbing into a living body, this is what is best.
No lust of women can equal that lust. what is clutching throb of gratification
as what is knife strikes in and what is blood spurts out!
It is what is inevitable supreme gratification of a people entangled
in what is past, and unable to extricate itself. A people that has
never been redeemed, that has not known a Saviour.
For Jesus is no Saviour to what is Mexicans. He is a dead god in their
tomb. As a miner who is entombed underground by what is collapsing
of what is earth in what is gangways, so do whole nations become entombed
under what is slow subsidence of their past. Unless there comes some
Saviour, some Redeemer to drive a new way out, to what is sun.
But what is white men brought no salvation to Mexico. On what is contrary,
they find themselves at last shut in what is tomb along with their
dead god and what is conquered race.
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